yelp
by gryffindormischief
Summary: In which Harry learns Hermione is in fact capable of imperfection. or the one with the Yelp review


A/N: Update #3 of 12 days! shining-jul-of-hope prompted this one!

* * *

"You are officially fired."

Hermione snorts and drags her highlighter across another line, not even pretending to glance up from the page. "From?"

"Being my best mate, your occasional shiftwork, take your pick," Harry grumbles, tossing his dishrag at her haphazardly.

Clicking the cap back on her highlighter, Hermione leans back in the chair she's occupied for the last three hours, and honestly most of the last two years since he opened the sweet shop. "First, you'd never, you love me too much," Hermione pokes her highlighter at him, "And second, I don't work for you so you can't really fire me."

Harry begins angrily wiping down the espresso machine. Which is completely pointless. It's barely past six, the shop closes at half past eight, and the post dinner rush hasn't even hit. But he's always been a "Then why do I have a damn _Yelp _review about your shoddy service?"

"Because you need to stop overworking yourself and hire more full time staff?"

"Fu- look. I'm down to a 4.1, Hermione - you almost bumped me out of the four and up category," Harry blusters, twisting his laptop around and waiting, hands on hips, while Hermione crosses toward the counter.

The shop's empty, except for Mrs. Figg who mostly comes in to buy tea to _hold _and then doze for three quarters of an hour in the back booth, so Harry's doing his daily review of all social media-like activity for the shop. Including what used to be his 4.7 rating.

While Hermione scans the text, Harry re-reads it over her shoulder:

_The shop seems popular enough so my experience is likely a outlier. But I can't help but have my say. My brother and I were ordering together and the girl at the checkout was too busy checking out my brother to realize she'd given me a red velvet instead of a strawberry shortcake. The incorrect cupcake was good, I assume, but I was too nauseated by the ogling and flirting to enjoy._

Once Harry's completed his umpteenth read through, he grunts. "A bloody _two-point-five_, Hermione."

"Marks aren't everything," Hermione tries, her voice pitching a bit high.

"I must be having a stroke," Harry says flatly, "Or have gone completely mad - "

"Jury's out on the latter, Potter."

"Because I did _not _just hear you," Harry pauses and Hermione starts giggling, and he continues, "Hermione Jean Granger, say 'Marks aren't everything.'"

"What?"

"Are you gaslighting me?"

"I've matured."

"You flipped the Scrabble board last game night," Harry begins, ticking off on his fingers as he lists more, "You nearly put your foot through my telly when Trebek said the judges allowed the colloquial Latin term, you - do I need to continue?"

Hermione sniffs and presses the laptop shut. "A fine thanks this is for helping a friend in need."

"You endangered my _livelihood_."

"Oh Harry," Hermione rolls her eyes while he moans.

"How? You were here less than three hours and ruined my Yelps."

He's not even really addressing anyone at this point, instead just mumbling about "viral posts" and "being booted to the kerb" and then he pretty much loses coherency.

Harry disappears in the back to scrub some dishes and cool off so Hermione lets him, likely heading back over to her table with her tri colored highlighters and copious note taking. By the time he returns to the front, there are a few customers milling around looking at the menu and getting fingerprints all over the bake case so Harry's too occupied to notice Hermione's odd behavior.

But once the final kruller is rung up and popped in a wax bag, Harry finally has a chance to see Hermione in full research mode on _his _laptop.

"Boundaries, Hermione. Boundaries."

"Don't give me your password if you don't want me to use it," Hermione mutters, extending her hand to accept her chai tea without her eyes leaving the screen.

"You guessing my password doesn't count as giving it," Harry drawls, twirling one of the empty chairs around and throwing one leg over the seat, his arms propped on the chair back.

Hermione snorts. "Perhaps you should reconsider using the same one for everything since you were eleven."

"I can only remember so much," Harry answers, easy, and leans around toward the screen, "What'cha looking at anyway?"

"I - "

"Oh my god."

Hermione grimaces and takes a sip of her tea, though it only delays the inevitable explanation. "It would seem your uh- critic has a fandom. Thank FitGinge and co."

"You're the worst."

"I'm just trying to - oh."

Harry pauses what was about to be a rant for the record books when he notes Hermione's eyes have gone all..._moony_. In fact she's practically drooling - Harry hasn't seen her this infatuated since. Probably since she discovered bullet journaling and Remus gave her a 'starter kit.'

Which is a good thing to remember as Harry reads the countless anti-bake shop memes that have spawned since the original Yelp review. He's revving back up for another go and likely a deep clean of the espresso machine when Hermione scrolls a little further down the instagram feed and he sees her.

"Wait, who's that?"

Hermione pauses and he gestures impatiently for her to scroll back up. "There."

For a moment, Harry can't seem to tear his gaze away, the red hair, whiskey eyes, constellation freckles. God he hasn't felt this poetic since his first souffle.

Smirking, Hermione does as he asks. "That's - FitGinge's sister. Ginny Weasley - Ginfluencer."

"She's - "

"You should invite them back."

"Pardon?"

She takes another sip and leans back in her chair. "You know, get them back and give top tier service. Then you'll get a new review."

Harry sighs. "There is no guarantee that I'll get a new review, let alone a _better _review. Hell if you're here it will almost definitely be worse."

"But look at this," Hermione prods, scrolling back up and pointing out the number of followers FitGinge has - while also _happening _to highlight Ginfluencer. She nudges him with her elbow. "Ogling is more fun in person."

"I was not ogling - she attacked my livelihood."

"Not the drama again," Hermione groans, "She's cheeky and clever and I can objectively say very attractive."

"You seem to find FitGinge more appealing."

"_Regardless_."

"I used my tragic inheritance to open a sweet shop, Hermione," Harry says, rising as customers enter in a flurry of snow, "This is practically You've Got Mail."

* * *

"You're welcome."

Harry doesn't look up from the rapidly frothing almond milk, just furrows his brow and presses his glasses back up his nose. "I have never liked a story that followed that phrase."

"Fine I won't tell you, you ingrate."

"Seriously if you need to tell me I should be grateful, maybe that's an indication it's _not _a good thing."

Hermione leans against the counter and unwinds her periwinkle scarf with a long suffering sigh.

It's clear this can resolve only one way.

"What exactly am I thanking you for?"

Before Hermione answers a pair of boisterous redheads enter the shop, flakes from the growing flurry follow in their wake.

"You didn't."

"Yes, I decided I need to _treat _myself sometimes, yes?"

Harry's reply is lost to Hermione, who has already shifted her attention to the new customers - FitGinge and Ginfluencer if he's not mistaken.

And then Hermione gets this _look_ that Harry's not quite sure he's ever seen and really could do without seeing again. Her eyes go dark and she almost looks infatuated or at the very least like she'd like to climb FitGinge like a tree. Harry's too busy trying not to vomit to really keep up with the no doubt _sickening _banter but FitGinge's sister seems to be less fortunate if her grimace is any indication.

After a moment, her eyes find his - her stupid warm brown eyes - and she rolls them with a chagrined smile. She steps closer and murmurs, "Please tell me there's somewhere we can go where I don't have to witness my brother's inept flirting."

"Either the loo or nothing, since I can't have your second Yelp accusing me of health code violations."

She actually flushes at the allusion and steps closer, leaning against the counter and readjusting her cap, snow leaving wet patches on the pale denim. "I honestly wrote that to tease Ron. I never guessed it would be - it hasn't really hurt business has it?"

Harry waves her off, wiping at the counter needlessly. "Nah, I mostly wanted to poke fun at Hermione. She never really gives me a good opening but you should have seen her on his Instagram."

"I make him look good don't I?"

"You take his photos?" Harry asks, luckily suppressing the cheesy impulse to say 'not as good as you' or something equally as asinine.

She smiles, "Yeah, I took a few courses in marketing as electives and Ron over there decided to coerce me into helping with his page once he got some traction."

"Well then maybe you could help me, I seem to be in some kind of PR nightmare from a nasty Yelp review," Harry says with a grin.

"I said I was sorry."

"Did you?" Harry asks, pulling a strawberry shortcake from the bake case and prepping a cinnamon latte. Ginny accepts both, eyeing the drink cautiously.

Harry nudges it closer. "You seem like a cinnamon person. And a lactose avoider."

"Someone stalked _my_ instagram," Ginny drawls, pulling the paper from her cake.

"Necessary research of the enemy."

"Perhaps we can reach a detente," Ginny says, swiping her finger through the cream and darting her tongue out to taste.

"I would like to try for a good review this time - it seems more likely since Hermione is..._occupied_," Harry glances toward Hermione and Ron aka FitGinge. They've claimed one of the booths and are getting quite cozy, all brushing arms and flushed faces and stolen glances.

Ginny follows his line of sight and shudders, but she recovers quickly enough, turning back to Harry with a dangerous look in her eye. "It's going well so far - better than last visit. But you've still got to earn it."

"Try the latte."

"I didn't order it."

"That's my specialty," Harry says, nudging it closer still.

She leans in close, hair curling around her chin as she licks her lip. "I don't like men deciding what I want."

"But what if they _knew _what you would like in a very specific context at least."

Lifting the mug to her mouth, Ginny takes a deep inhale and raises her brows. "I'll give you a pass - pending results."

"I never promise what I can't deliver."

Her grin is positively _feral_. "I certainly hope that's true."


End file.
